Kiss of Death

She was such a good girl to consent to being my wife. I knew, of course, that she would be my dead wife, could only be my dead wife. Just like my beautiful dead wife in Persia. Just like my beautiful, dead mother.

My poor Christine was so unhappy. I knew she was crying for her almost certainly dead boy. I did tell her, didn't I? I did warn her that I was built up of death from head to foot. That I brought death with me wherever I went.

But at least there was something I could give her. A wedding present….And I had so always wanted to kiss her. Maybe I could finally make us both happy.

Christine was a good girl, a good Catholic girl and she knew what a sin it was to kill oneself. I couldn't let her do that, even though I knew the moment I let my wife out of my sight she would end her life. I wonder how she will do it? There are scissors and knives around the house, not out in plain sight but certainly not well hidden enough that a determined person couldn't find them. She might throw herself in the lake. Oh but then she would be so cold! And in the dark! She hated the cold and the dark.

No, I couldn't let my poor Christine cut herself up or drown in that cold water. Better to do it myself. Then I can send the angel right up to heaven where she belongs.

Even though I had set in my mind what I was going to do, I still felt myself trembling and felt as timid as when I approached my mother to ask for a kiss decades ago.

I could still remember that afternoon as if it were yesterday.

I had been in my room reading a collection of fairy tales. I was probably six or seven. I always tried to stay out of Mother's way whenever I could. It seemed to make her so unhappy whenever she remembered my existence. No matter what I did or how I tried to please her I was only able to make her angry and was usually beaten whenever I tried to touch her or get too close.

One particular instance I had a nightmare and ran to her room, searching in vain for some comfort from my beautiful and cold hearted mother. In fairness to her, I'm sure it must have been distressing to be shaken awake by a wailing corpse. I was thrown across the room and into the dresser. After that night, she started locking me in my bedroom every evening.

But I discovered the answer to my troubles in that old book, or so I thought at the time. Story after story had spells broken and kingdoms saved by the mere act of pressing one's lips to someone else. I was certain my monstrous face was the result of some such spell, my mother referred to us both as "cursed" quite frequently! Perhaps she didn't know if she kissed me it would break the spell! I was so lucky to have found this out and couldn't wait to show her.

I raced out of my bedroom and down the stairs, where Mother was reading the Bible by the window. She looked at me and frowned. "What do you want, beast?"

I was too excited to explain myself, and burst out, "Mother, will you kiss me?"

Her face turned suddenly very pale and her eyes widened with shock.

"Never! Never ask me that!"

"But, Mother-", I started towards her, hoping to explain about the curse and the stories.

But she quickly rose off the couch and scrambled away from me. "No, you demon! I can't kiss you! If I kiss you I'll die!"

I stopped short, suddenly very frightened. "You'll…you'll die?"

"Yes!", she exclaimed, starting to calm down. "You will never try to kiss me! Being forced to be near a demon like you is a punishment I can hardly bear, but if I kissed you it would kill me. Do you want to kill your mother, monster?"

I was crying freely at this point. What had I done to deserve this? A kiss from me would kill my mother? I couldn't bear the thought. I loved my mother, unreasonable as it may seem. "No, mother….I'm sorry Mother", I sobbed.

It was getting hard to breathe with my mask on, I was crying too much. I took it off and it fell to the floor. Mother shrieked and grabbed it off the rug. She ran away and tossed my mask at me as she retreated to her bedroom and shut the door.

I sank down to the floor and sat and sobbed. I had been wrong, I thought to myself. It was a different kind of curse. A kiss from me would only bring about death.

So now I would kiss Christine. I could at least save her from the sin of suicide and a dreadfully unhappy life with me.

As I approached her, she put her forehead out just a little…did she know? Did she know what was going to happen, that I would kiss her and she would die? At least she seemed ready for death.

My first wife was ready for death too, I remembered. Twenty years or so after I'd run away from my poor, unhappy Mother I was in Persia working for the Shah. At the height of my power there, I had pleased his eldest daughter, the little sultana, enough that she thought fit to send me a gift.

I concocted interesting and creative deaths for the enemies of my sadistic employer and word had gotten around the palace about not only my terrible face but my capacity for cruelty.

A servant girl of the sultana, barely out of her teens, was always particularly frightened. She made herself scarce whenever I was in the Sultana's chambers and trembled and avoided my eyes whenever she was forced to be in my presence. Evidently, she had displeased her mistress terribly, because she was the one chosen to be my bride.

After a brief presentation ceremony that she shook violently and cried all the way through, we were alone in my chambers.

I tried to reassure her that I would be very kind and very gentle with my new wife. That I was not really so horrible and that she would never have to see my face!

I never forgot what my mother had said about kissing her, but I had incorrectly assumed that had only applied to her. I asked my new bride if she might grant me the great honor of a kiss.

She tried to steady herself and stop trembling. "I…I need something to calm my nerves", she said shakily.

"Of course, my dear! Let me fetch you some wine…"

"I brought something.", she whispered and pulled a small vial out of her pocket. It must have been some kind of women's potion from the harem, I assumed. To steady the nerves for a virgin and help with pain perhaps. She stared uncertainly at the liquid, as if trying to convince herself to drink it. I found that a bit odd, why should she hesitate?

She brought the vial to her lips with a trembling hand, looked at me in terror and downed the entire glass. She murmured a quick prayer for forgiveness.

She stared at me vacantly and started to sway. Thinking it must have taken effect very quickly, I put my head forward to kiss the curve of her cheek. The moment my lips pressed her skin, she fainted dead away and tumbled to the floor.

I tried to revive her, but it was to no avail. She was dead. I shook with horror and begged forgiveness, though of course she couldn't hear me. I finally understood, if any woman ever let me kiss her, it would only mean death.

And now it would be my poor Christine. She was as radiant now as the angel she would soon be. I gently pressed my lips to her forehead. She was really letting me kiss her! I began to cry, knowing my sweet Christine would soon be no more, and waited expectantly for her to fall dead.